


More than meets the eye

by melissen



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom Arthur, Damascus, Jealous Arthur, Kenya, Kind of angsty?, M/M, Mombasa, Pining, Prison, Syria, cute boys hot for Eames, written in 3rd person POV but it's really Arthur's perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:08:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissen/pseuds/melissen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slowly building romance and adventure?… I think. I’m not good with summaries... </p><p>It starts with an easy job in Paris, one cute new Architect crazy for the forger and one very jealous point man. Than it moves to more exotic places. Arthur learns about the frustrating man’s interesting past and when he finds out that Eames got himself in trouble he’s on the first flight to Damascus because he will not let the bastard die until he tells him something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, English is not my first language.

When Dom called to tell him about the job Arthur was sitting in one of his favourite Parisian cafés enjoying the heavy smell of lilies from the surrounding flower shops and watching white fluffy clouds moving lazily across the blue sky over the Eifel Tower. He was in a good mood so he agreed. Especially that it looked like an interesting case and he was getting kind of bored lately.

Dom should've been the one to hire a new guy. He would simply take whoever Miles said was the best and it would most probably be a girl. But, Dom couldn't do it since he had promised Miles that Fisher would be his last job. It obviously wasn't, but his father in law didn't need to know that.

Arthur made a wrong choice.

He considered a few candidates, tested three and chose the one he decided was the best.

His name was Luc.

He was young, blond and absolutely gorgeous. He had this heavy French accent which was making him even cuter and lips so pink that they put any lipstick to shame. He liked to draw and he was damn good at it. Arthur was genuinely impressed with things his imagination could create and surprised that it could sometimes outsmart his own solid logic. He was also natural in his creation. He didn’t have to think how to make something look believable. His work was pure wonder and every single one of his dreamscapes was an art piece in its own right.

The only problem was that Arthur had trouble stopping himself from shooting the guy in their shared dreams.

The first time passed as an accident. It actually  _was_  an accident! Arthur didn’t really mean to do it, but it happened. So he apologised and Luc said it was nothing. Then Arthur somehow did it again and from the look Cobb was giving him when he heard Arthur apologise to the new guy, he was fairly certain that the third time would not pass.

It’s not just that he didn’t like Luc, because he didn’t like a lot of people and he wasn’t shooting at them left and right. He even kind of liked the boy when he hired him. They worked just fine at the beginning. It was almost perfect until Dom brought Eames into the picture.

When the forger finally showed up he looked as ragged as always, or even more. His fringe was falling onto his forehead, reaching the tip of his nose, and he was wearing the ugliest shirt Arthur had ever laid his eyes on. He wouldn’t even dare to name the colour of this atrocity but it was hurting Arthur’s fashion sensitive eyes like a tear gas. He looked tired and disinterested but his lips twisted in an irritatingly charming smile as soon as Arthur acknowledged his presence.

“Good afternoon, Arthur.”

“Hello, Eames. Dom? We don’t need a forger for this job.”

“No, this time we need a thief.”

“There’s plenty of good thieves here in Paris. You didn’t have to drag one out of some dark hole in Mombasa.”

“Oh, thank you, Arthur. I’m pleased to see you too.” Eames was still smiling.

Cobb just snorted. “I don’t have time for this, Arthur. You know he’s the best. And we need someone with military training for the second level.”

Eames put his hands into his pockets and shrugged nonchalantly, but his shoulders seemed tense.

“Military training? Who said I've had military training? And I was not in Mombasa.”

Arthur scoffed. Now when he thought about it the forger was very quick with all sort of weaponry and hand to hand combat, which they truly would need for this job. Still, for Arthur ‘Eames in the army’ was always an unfathomable concept. It would require some discipline and Eames was… a slob.

"I know. How's Singapore at this time of year?

"Lovely.”

“For sucking Saito's cock I would think he would keep you in Tokyo."

Eames’ face was priceless. “I’m sorry, what?”

Cobb didn’t waste any more time for neither of them and promptly asked about the new Architect.

When Luc came back from his lunch break Eames had already shed his jacket, which was almost as ugly as his shirt, but not quite, and rolled up his sleeves. He was sitting slouched in a chair, his legs spread shamelessly wide… Not that Arthur cared how the idiot was sitting. He didn’t. He wasn't even looking. But apparently their new colleague was.

As soon as Luc stepped into the warehouse his green eyes landed dead on Eames’ crotch. Arthur pretended he didn’t notice. He cleared his throat, fixed his tie and began introductions.

“Luc, meet the boss. This is Dominic Cobb, the brain of the operation and the extractor. He will teach you a few more tricks. He will show you what you need to do and how.” The blonde’s eyes were darting back and forth between Dom and the forger.

“Ok, Luc. I've heard from Arthur that you’re good and I trust him with that. The problem is what we need you to do. It’s something more than just a maze. We need you to be ready to add levels during the dream in places where they shouldn’t be. And you’ll have to do it being absolutely sure that the target won’t realise the change…” Cobb was going on and on while the boy clearly did his best to listen, albeit very distractedly for few more minutes. When Dom's hand pointed at the forger Luc's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “… then Eames starts to do his part and you must make sure he doesn’t get caught, give him a way out.”

Luc’s eyes finally landed on the Brit and stayed there. Eames seemed amused by the attention. He smirked over a toothpick in his mouth and winked at their new team mate enjoying how Luc’s pale boyish face slowly acquired a rosy shade.

“Oui… I’ll do m' best…”

“Great.” Cobb clasped his hands. “So, Eames, how do we do this?”

“There’s this thing I tried once, back in Tokyo. We’ve had an architect who could bend the dreamscape of his dream so I could jump in at one place and come out at the other, like through some kind of portal.”

“Who was that?” Arthur was for some reason suddenly quite eager to replace the Frenchman if it was necessary… or at least possible.

“That’s irrelevant, love. He’s dead.” Arthur ignored the irritating pet name, like he always did, but Luc’s eyes snapped to him instantly, the question clear in their green depths. Arthur suppressed his urge to grin.

“So, how did he do that? How is it possible to do that and not make the subconscious aware something’s wrong?”

“That’s a good question, Arthur. We'll have to ask Yusuf. He was the one providing somancine. The mix we used makes the target’s mind less sharp and more open. Not LSD level, though definitely less realistic. But, it also makes the mark completely unpredictable, so way much more work for you, darling.” That smirk was in place, together with the raised eyebrow. It was making Arthur sick. He wanted to punch the idiot and leave but he had work to do.

"You're worried about me overworking myself, Mr. Eames? Cute."

"Only about what's best for the team. I wouldn't even dream about you noticing though. Now, what we will have to plan is all possible scenarios for how things may develop."

Arthur snorted. "We can't predict all possible scenarios!"

This time the smile Eames directed at Arthur seemed a little less patient and rather strained.

"We can predict certain patterns to prepare our ways out. It's what we always do but this time we will have to consider also possibilities that are very unlikely. It will take more time and will require some imagination, but I dare say we managed to do harder things."

"Yeah? Like what?" Now Arthur was the one smirking. He wanted to prolong their banter but the smile on Eames’ lips was now so strained it looked creepy.

"Like getting used to your charming personality."

What pissed Arthur the most about Eames was that the bastard was always able to provoke him. No one else could make the point man act so unprofessionally! And now Cobb was giving him those irritated looks, like Arthur was wasting their time.

They started planning right away. Yusuf was in Zürich so they needed to wait for him a couple of days. Most of that time Eames and Luc spend training and doing the passages under Cobb’s watchful eye and guidance, leaving Arthur to give them kicks. Arthur tried to busy himself with gathering information on their mark, but something was constantly bothering him, like a torn in his side.

Having Eames under somnacine induced sleep was something Arthur always secretly liked. Only then he was able to watch their forger without worry of being caught. Unfortunately this time he couldn’t enjoy it at all. He still watched Eames, staring like hypnotized at his face. The thief looked impossibly good when he was asleep. His full lips, just slightly parted were driving Arthur crazy, but surprisingly it was Eames’ neck that always made the point man’s mouth water, because he knew how good it smelled and it made him wonder how it would taste.

But this time when they used PASIV Luc was putting his lounger right beside Eames’ chair; his arm with the needle stretched out, almost touching the forger’s hand. It was killing Arthur that he didn’t know what was happening in their dreams, but after waking up there was always a lot of laughs, excited conversations and shoulder patting. Then after few days Eames woke up chuckling and when he stood from his armchair he ruffled the blond mane of their new architect with a fond smile on his full lips. Arthur couldn’t take it anymore.

He wanted to be there too, so he went under and seeing how in synch Eames was with Luc, he kind of… shot him. Startled by his own unforgivable reaction he stopped joining their dreams until Cobb needed to show him the layout from the inside and he had no choice but start to go under.

That’s when he did it again. It wasn’t even so much to cause Luc a massive headache, but to see Eames’ reaction. To no one’s surprise after waking up the bastard offered the Frenchman some painkillers and took him out for a drink.

After that it was getting worse with every passing day. Luc had no sense of personal space, often stepping behind seating Eames and putting his hands on the thief’s muscled shoulders. Sometimes he just kept them there, other times he gave Eames a massage, making him growl in contentment.

“Damn it, brat, stop it or I’ll fall asleep again.”

He called him ‘lad’ most of times, but sometimes he called him a brat and that somehow held even more fondness and it was making Arthur sick. Luc was like a leech, sticking to Eames' side every time he had a chance. After just few days he already knew how Eames’ muscled shoulders felt to touch while Arthur after few years still had no idea. He was pestering the older man to go to the movies, to the zoo, or to some 'lovely' café. Eames always refused but the leech was so whiny and persistent that sometimes after a heavy sigh the forger let the blond drag him wherever he pleased. Arthur wanted to know how he did that. How could he just grab the forger's arm and pull him out of the warehouse, or touch him so naturally, while Arthur couldn't even meet the thief’s eyes for more than just few seconds?

It made him unable to do his job properly. As a point man Arthur needed to be able to trace down every fact about the mark, every detail that could matter to assure successful extraction. It was important, because the safety of the team during the work was his responsibility. To properly study the data he needed time and peace to freaking concentrate which was not possible at the moment. Yes, he was alone in the warehouse, he had peace and quiet, but just knowing how soon it would end made him completely unable to work.

In the last few weeks he acquired more nervous ticks he knew existed and he had trouble sleeping. Not just dreaming, but sleeping! Every night he tossed and turned for hours cursing himself for being stupid, and trying to figure out what to do, or how to fire their new Architect. Also, he couldn’t eat!

…

The door opened and someone came in. Arthur's guts twisted in a weird mix of hope and dread at the thought that it could be Eames. He looked up and felt his hot insides grow cold.

"Bonjour, Ah’tur!" Luc looked like a cover model wearing designer jeans, expensive shirt and a fancy scarf. They must've look unbelievably stupid together, him and Eames, with the forger always dressed in fashion history's greatest mistakes. Luc had this aura of effortless elegance around him all the time, no matter if he was in a tux or a pair of well-worn jeans and a t-shirt.

Luc walked up to his desk and turned on the computer. He didn’t make any traditional 3D models they used so far. Since they were going beyond three dimensions the design could only be done adapting the right computer software to their needs. Still, Luc liked to draw every piece first on paper. That's why he always had a folder of those under his arm.

The point man watched the blond manoeuvre around the stack of cables and silently hoped he would trip. No sooner than the thought crossed his mind he heard a loud thump and the architect fell face forward to the floor dropping the folder at Arthur’s feet, revealing its content.

Stubble covered face peeked at the point man from every page. It was amazing how detailed and accurate were those images. The crinkles around the smiling eyes, the teasing eyebrows, those damn lips...

"Merde! .... Um... pardon... sorry..."

The younger man hastily got up and approached Arthur, retrieving the drawings from his shaking hands. The point man was stunned. On some of those pictures Eames was even decently dressed, on some he was wearing only jeans or a towel around his hips. But there were at least two or three where he was completely naked.

For some time now Arthur couldn't help but wonder if those two fucked. The question soon became an obsession in the point man's head and it was distracting him from work and sleep to the point where he couldn’t stand it anymore. It was clear that Luc was crazy about the thief but Eames seemed to treat the younger man like some spoiled child. Of course it could've been his way to flirt, but it was still hard to say.

Now, judging from those drawings, Arthur was pretty sure that the forger nailed the blond, maybe even from the day one. His vision blurred. He needed some fresh air.

Sitting on a bench outside by the door he closed his eyes enjoying the morning sun and with elbows on his knees he covered his face with his hands.

"Hello, darling. Are you alright?" Shit. That was the last thing Arthur needed right now.

Eames kneeled down in front of him and tried to pry his hands away.

"Leave me alone, Eames."

"Arthur, come on..."

"Don't touch me!"

The forger's hands rose in a placating gesture, not touching Arthur anymore.

"I'm sorry. Are you alright? You look pale."

"It’s none of your business, Mr Eames. Go and pester your boyfriend. I'm not in a mood for your shit."

Eames snorted, furrowing his expressive eyebrows in clear confusion.

"Boyfriend? I must say I’m baffled… I don't have a boyfriend so I may as well still pester you, right?"

"Wrong!" Arthur's head finally snapped up and a sudden lump in his throat stopped him from yelling anything more.

Eames was dressed in tight jeans, white t-shirt and a leather jacket. He smelled faintly of motor oil and wind. Heat was practically radiating from his body making Arthur's cheeks grow warmer, and his pants tighter.

"You came here on a bike?"

"It's Thursday, darling. Time to meet the mark. I need to blend in. Don't change the subject. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Eames' head dropped in resignation. His next words hit Arthur like a punch with their serious and resigned tone.

"That's truly the only thing you will ever want from me, isn't it?" The forger shook his head and stood up. Arthur pretended that he wasn't staring at his jeans clad thighs and crotch. Eames was wearing leather boots.... looked good on him.

"Yea, go and check on Luc. He almost killed himself tripping over the cables. You can kiss it better."

Eames was half way to the door but stopped and turned back to Arthur hearing his comment. He hesitated for a moment, fiddling with a black, shiny helmet in his hands. Finally he sat on the bench beside the point man, his knee brushing Arthur's. He always spread his legs wide when he was sitting, as if to rub it in Arthur's face that his junk was huge and needed a lot of space. Stupid fucker.

"So the brat did something to piss you off? What? He spilt coffee on your jacket when he tripped?"

"I would fucking shoot him if he did that."

"Ah... you already did, twice, if I remember correctly. But as they say, third time is a charm. So, you don't like the boy. Why did you hire him then, if he pisses you off?"

"You piss me off, and I work with you."

“Not by choice, I’m sure.”

They stayed silent for a moment. Arthur could practically hear all those cogs in the Brit's head moving, thinking, analysing, elucidating his younger friend's every word, taking it apart and drawing conclusions. He was disturbingly skilled at that.

"I don't get you, Arthur. No matter how hard I try."

"Yeah, some forger you are, Eames."

"Hey, I am a marvellous forger, darling. Don't forget how we've met. You couldn't even find me in my own dream."

"Because your psyche is fucked up." Arthur and Cobb had met Eames on the job. The man was their mark, but they couldn't even find him in the dream because he looked like fifteen different people in a span of one hour. Arthur didn't get it. Why would a guy with Eames' looks ever want to look like someone else...?

"It is not. I'm just... I'm not defined by the way I look."

"Yes, you believe that, don't you? That certainly shows in a way you dress." That startled a laugh out of the thief.

"Now, darling, be nice. What's wrong with the way I dress?"

Arthur looked up. "Do you really want me to start on that? These atrocities you wear should be illegal."

Eames looked down at his jeans and nodded. "True, but it's because I'm in a disguise at the moment."

"Your disguise isn't actually half bad."

"Ok, now you're just being mean." Arthur couldn't help but forget what was troubling him and laughed too.

"I'm serious. Now, your usual shirts on thhe other hand... They would never look good on anyone, and I mean anyone at all."

"So? They suit  _me._  I'm not a prince charming. But there's more to people than just their looks, darling. Why can't you look past that?"

Arthur shook his head. He wouldn't even try to explain how Eames' looks was sometimes the only thing he could think about all day, how he wanted to touch Eames' stubble, lick his ear or rip those ugly clothes off his body. If it was so easy to look past all that, Arthur surely fucking would.

"Eames?" The architect showed up in the warehouse door, his bright green eyes huge with wonder, hungrily taking in the forger's outfit.

"Yes, lad?" His tone was mocking but it wasn't the same as when he teased Arthur. It was... somehow different.

"You look sexy."

"Watch it, brat. What did I tell you?"

"I'm no' a kid, Eames."

“You are."

"I’m twenty!"

“Are you really? “ Eames' eyebrows rose in amusement and he seemed to be making huge effort to not burst out laughing.

“Almost…”

"When I was your age you were two. I could as well be your father."

“You’h not m’mum’s type.”

Luc stepped closer, brushing his blond fringe from his eyes with sharp gesture, making Eames' smirk widen. His cheeks were already pink either from anger or agitation, his red lips trembling. He really was a gorgeous young man.

"’sides, 'm no' two now. Need a prove? I will prove tis to you, chère. Jus' gimme a chance.” He leaned down and whispered straight into the forger’s ear, but still loud enough for Arthur to hear. “I would suck yo' cock until you can’t count dat diffe'honce anymo'."

Oh gods, how Arthur hated his stupid accent.

"I'm not good at maths anyway. But if you don't stop spewing this nonsense I shall wash that mouth of yours with a soap, BRAT."

Luc pouted – openly, childishly – it was almost grotesque but somehow still cute on the blonde’s gorgeous face.

“You could use m’mouth fo’ some’ting beta’, cher. A' leas' lemme fix 'tis.” The architect’s hands were already sinking into Eames slick hair, creating an incredibly sexy mess on his head.

"Now tis is beta'." Eames grabbed the younger man's wrist and tried to push him away.

"Don't do this."

"Why non?"

"Because I say so. What's wrong with you two?"

Luc's eyes widened in question. He looked so innocent and naive. "Tu?"

"Yes. Two. Arthur picks on my clothes and you on my hair. I'm a lost cause, boys, so just let me be. Hey, maybe you should date each other. You would look great together and you could pick each other’s clothes and do each other’s hair."

Luc's laugh was as sweet and perfect as the rest of him. It almost made Arthur laugh too, but his chest was in too much pain at the moment. Eames on the other hand was smiling and Arthur couldn't even blame him. How could he blame the forger for anything related to this gorgeous boy? And he was practically throwing himself at Eames. His knee was brushing teasingly over his thigh... Fuck if Arthur were in Eames' place he would have the boy bent over the bathroom sink the moment he appeared in the doorway! But with Eames it was hard to say anything. Arthur couldn't tell if they were fucking or not. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Eames really was into guys at all. The man was a mystery and Arthur would not be surprised if it turned out that the forger had three wives and five kids somewhere in exotic countries.

After that morning Luc was acting weird and he avoided Arthur but when they were finally left alone in the evening he cleared his throat and shyly stepped to the point man's desk.

"Ah’tur, I...." He was blushing profusely, playing with a pencil in his hands. For a moment Arthur was afraid that the kid really took Eames’ words seriously and was there to ask him out.

"I do' know how to say tis... Please.... please don' tell Eames."

"About what?" Arthur hardly even glanced up from the screen of his laptop. He was considering punching him if it really was about a date.

"You kno'... da dh’awings... He would kill me if he found out dat I was dh’awing him, an' naked? Tis would be a painful death."

Arthur did look up this time.

"So he doesn't know? I thought he posed for them willingly."

"Oh, non..." If the kid's face was red before, now it was almost purple. "Non... Eames would neva' let me do tis. I thought you'd kno'... dat I made them up... dat they' wrong... you've seen him like dat, non?"

"You mean naked? Of course I haven't. Why would you think that?"

The architect's embarrassment slowly started to morph into something else.

"Well I thought... dat you tu had a past... non?"

"No."

It was like some dam broke in Luc and he started to laugh. "Oh mon Dieu... and I thought.... merde, I thought I was in yo' way... so you an' 'im are non..."

Damn brat was still laughing, and he seemed so genuinely happy that Arthur was seriously close to shooting him for real. Luckily Cobb entered the warehouse just in time to distract the thought out of his head.

At least now he knew that the two weren't fucking. It was good enough to lift his spirits.

But only until the next morning.

Since their conversation Luc stopped being even remotely subtle with his interest in Eames. The moment the forger entered their hideout the blond was at his side. First he surprised the Brit with a kiss on his cheek, which Eames seemed to hardly even notice but it still doomed the rest of the day for poor Arthur. Of course Eames was the one to take the blow for that. The point man was in even more bitchy mood than usually and since he had to vent on someone it was not hard to predict who would be the lucky one.

Especially that Eames seemed to mock him with his tempting appearance. He was adorably tired after his nights under cover and his moves were kind of sluggish. It made you want to take advantage, to pull him into his arms, hug him and cuddle. Luc once again messed up his hair, obviously trying to provoke the older man to some playful reaction. (The only answer he got was a tired sigh.) Arthur's hands itched to touch, to brush Eames' too long fringe off his face, to sink his own fingers in those locks and to finally know how they feel under his fingers.

Everything pissed him off. As per usual he negated Eames' every word and loaded him with tons of notes to read, but this time it was just not enough to ease his frustration. So, when the brat started to cheer the thief up, Arthur couldn't take it anymore and 'accidentally' dropped a cup of coffee on Eames' pants. It almost made him smile but then Luc dragged the older man to the bathroom to help him wash it up and Arthur seriously considered shooting  _himself_  this time.

The trousers turned out to be unsalvageable and the forger, despite all his protests, once again had to live through the day in his 'undercover' jeans. Since his ugly shirt got some coffee too and ended up in a trash can (thank God for small victories) above the waist Eames was left covered in just a thin white tank top and his tattoos. Tight shirt clung to his six pack lovingly accenting every curve and showing his impressively developed trapezius muscles. It was a bit scary how much raw strength those ugly, oversized jackets could hide.

Arthur was beyond pissed, tired, and painfully hard.

Eames was patient. He seemed to either not notice or simply ignore both Arthur's prissy attitude and Luc's restless attempts to seduce him.

Cobb wasn't as understanding.

"What the hell are you doing, Arthur?" He mercifully waited for others to leave before he addressed the issue.

"What do you mean, Dom?" It was worth trying, but Cobb's raised eyebrows and a pointy look were enough for Arthur to know that playing dumb was not an option.

But he really didn't know what to say.

"Really, I... didn't mean to destroy his  _unique_  shirt. It was an accident."

"Arthur... obviously your relationship with Eames is none of my business, but if it affects work, you make it my business. It  _affects_  my business. I need Eames for this job."

"I know."

"I need you both..."

"I know. It's fine. I don't have any problem with working with him. Honest."

Dom was looking at Arthur the same way he looked at Philippa when she claimed that the cake on her face was actually only soap.

"Arthur, could you at least tell me one thing?"

The point man knew for sure that it was going to be something he'd rather die than talk about. Especially with Cobb. But even with dread clenching his throat he asked anyway.

"What?"

"Are you.... by any means jealous?"

If it was possible to swallow your own throat Arthur was sure it would feel like this. He was sputtering for a good minute before he managed to get any words out.

"Jealous? I am not jealous! Why would I be jealous? I do NOT like Eames."

"Eames? I didn't mean Eames. I thought you wanted Luc. Isn't he just your type? You always say you like those skinny blonds and he certainly knows how to dress. At first I thought that's why you hired him... did you?"

"NO! How could you even think that?"

"So you don't want in his pants?"

"No."

"Ok... that's good. Good. Because he likes Eames and... I don't know. I thought you're pissed at Eames because the kid wants him so bad."

Arthur wanted to laugh or at least roll his eyes. He wanted to snort and say he didn't give a fuck. But he couldn't do anything.

"So you're fine with them hitting it off?" Cobb insisted. He wanted to hear it. And Arthur really wanted to answer ‘yes’ and move on with his life. But if he opened his mouth there was a chance he wouldn't recognise his own voice. He would probably sob or say something he would regret. So he stayed silent.

"Arthur?"

"He's seventeen years older."

"So what? The kid's crazy about him. You should be glad. If he's busy with the kid heąll stop paying so much attention to you. And maybe you'll stop making things so difficult for him."

"I do not! He said that?"

"He may tease you but he would never say one bad word about you and you know it. Alright. I'm going home. I'm really glad it's not about Luc. Really. That would be... that would suck, big time. 'Cause I'm really rooting for the kid and Eames is so... oblivious sometimes."

"He's not oblivious, Dom. He knows more about other people's feelings then the people themselves."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe the kid’s not his type, but… oh, well…"

Arthur knew he was right. Eames was irritating and silly most of times but Arthur would never really deny that the man was a brilliant judge of characters. He was sure that the forger was more than aware of Luc’s feelings and maybe even knew about Arthur’s shameful attraction. If he was ignoring the blond’s advances it meant that they were not welcomed. And if he didn’t want a guy as gorgeous as Luc, then he probably wasn’t really interested in men at all. Arthur always suspected that Eames’ teasing was just to piss him off.

After that conversation Arthur doubled his efforts to be good and ignore both Eames and Luc, but apparently Luc _tripled_ his efforts in pestering the forger so it was still not enough.

TBC


	2. Successful Extractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kz109 and Ciw thank you so much for the reviews!!!

They were about to start another planning and brainstorming session and Luc was currently trying to force his way onto Eames' laps.

“Brat, I’m gonna’ box your ears if you don’t quit it.” He was trying to straddle the older man, but Eames was holding his hips, pushing him off.

"Luc!" Arthur hoped that his glare matched his tone. To his satisfaction Luc jumped slightly startled but didn't really move away from the thief. On the contrary, he put his hand on the man's shoulder and leaned into him.

"Oui?"

"There's a free chair right there."

Luc didn't even glance at the chair Arthur was pointing.

"Oh, non. I don' need one." Taking advantage of Eames' momentary distraction with Arthur the architect slid gracefully down, sitting on the thief's thighs sideways.

The point man's blood boiled.

"Sit your ass on that chair, NOW!" The damn kid had a gal to raise one eyebrow and smirk with preponderance, draping his arm over the forger's neck. Arthur was so focused on glaring daggers at the Frenchman that he totally missed the movement of Eames' hand. He was equally surprised by the slapping sound as Luc was by the sudden stinging pain in his bottom.

"Oh merde!..." The blond instantly jumped to his feet, his pale face quickly turning red as he stared into the thief's amused eyes.

 _"Always_  listen to Arthur, lad." With one foot Eames pulled the aforesaid chair a bit closer. Luc turned it and obediently sat down before he pushed off his sandals and put his bare feet in the forger's laps.

Arthur's hands formed fists at his sides. "Comfortable?"

"Yes, merci."

"Great. Hey, how about you show Eames your drawings?"

Luc's feet were back on the floor before Arthur could even blink.

"What drawings?" Eames seemed only mildly interested in the matter.

"Of da maze, cher... I'll show you late’a.''

The point man met the architect's eyes dead on and waited in heavy silence until the younger man dropped his in surrender.

"Can we finally start?" Cobb's voice brought them all back to the meeting they were supposed to be having.

"Now?" Yusuf was smiling cheerfully. "No cat fight!? I would bet 10 dollars on Arthur."

Eames burst out laughing. The cackling sound was so rare and delightful that Arthur almost forgot to be angry. When the kid glared at him one more time he glared back. If the bitch wanted a war, he would give him a war.

Cobb talked about their plan, summing up all their moves. Then he asked Eames to go through the various options of events and the brainstorming begun. Eames effortlessly spewed ideas one after another like it was nothing. Arthur listened, as always astounded by the other man’s ability to predict other people’s reactions. It shocked him every time, making him bitter and defensive. But this time, instead of negating Eames’ every word he merely settled for smiling at the thief rather seductively.

“Are you quite alright, pet?” Eames was frowning.

“Of course. Why?”

“You were smiling.” Arthur only raised an eyebrow, the smirk still in place.

“At me.” Eames seemed convinced that adding that would make the point cross.

“If I say that I’m impressed, you’ll think I’m trying to mock you anyway, right?”

Arthur stretched in his chair and loosened his tie. He was wearing a shirt and a navy blue pullover today. Eames’ eyes travelled along the lines of his body and soon were back to Arthur’s face, suspicion and careful assessment reflecting from his green irises.

“Right... So, as I said, it doesn’t really matter if he jumps or not. It still leaves us with the same options.” Almost instantly the forger was back on track.

Cobb clasped his hands. “Great. So we have this path clear.”

“Not quite.” Eames was looking at their whiteboard, scratching his chin. “We still didn’t include the element of surprise.”

“What surprise? We have all options covered.”

“Dom, it’s a dream. You know better than anyone that anything is possible in a dream. As our dear Arthur pointed out earlier we can’t predict the mark’s  _every_  thought and emotion. We need an emergency route in case something absolutely unpredictable happens. Of course if it’s something that kills us, we still wake up and start over on another occasion but if it’s anything less drastic we should choose one spot to bodge some emergency portal.”

It gave their architect an opening to contribute and when Eames praised the boy’s choice of location Arthur realised that he was already clutching something heavy in his hands, ready to chuck it at Luc’s face. He took few deep breaths and instead of throwing the thing, he simply dropped it to the floor. Then he stood up, stepped to where it rolled off and bend down to pick it up. Maybe Eames wasn’t seriously interested in men but he never waster any chance to ogle Arthur and tease him about it. When he straightened up the Englishman was still staring at his ass, his head tilted slightly to the right to get better angle, and the words forgotten momentairly on his lips. The architect was pouting. It took all Arthur’s self-restraint to not stick his tongue at the kid. Winning Eames’ attention back felt great and Arthur was going to keep it. They went through few more possible scenarios before they called it a day.

Eames was sitting in a chair, reading an article about their mark. His jacket was draped over the backrest and he was left in just a short sleeved… sartorial  abomination. His feet were resting up, on some boxes showing that he somehow managed to find socks matching his poor excuse of a shirt. Not for the first time, Arthur truly wanted nothing more than to rid the other man of his awful clothes completely. Instead of doing that though, he leaned over the thief, seemingly to read the article over his muscular shoulder. The older man’s smell filled his nostrils and it made Arthur’s breath hitch. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

He half expected Eames to turn his head, to bring their faces even closer, but the other man seemed to freeze. Arthur’s breath ghosted over his ear and the forger’s eyes fell close for a brief moment. Arthur made sure that the annoying Frenchman was looking.

“Few random things. Nothing to fuss over for sure.” Arthur reached his arm over Eames’ other shoulder and pointed at the picture in the newspaper.

“That’s an ugly picture.” Speaking the words the point man’s lips almost brushed over the forger’s ear. It would take no effort at all to stick his tongue out and simply lick it, or suck, or nibble. Holding up was much harder than ever. Trapped in Eames’ personal space Arthur not only didn’t want to leave, but he really wanted to get even closer. He shivered when elbow of his outstretched arm brushed over the muscled chest.

“You smell good, Eames.” His throat was dry and his purring voice heavy with need.

“Darling, if you want to punish the brat, just cut his share, and keep me out of this.”

“What?”

“You’ve heard.” Eames stood up from his comfortable chair and brushed Arthur’s hand away. “See you tomorrow, gentlemen.”

Eames left, not paying attention to the blond boy calling his name and following him out.

It was getting worse with every day. Him and Luc fought more and more and most of the time their battlefield was the innocent forger, who did his damn best to ignore both of them completely.

Neither of them was making it easy though.

Luc brought Eames some pastries his mother made so Arthur used it as an opportunity to attack the older man with the creamy goodness, licking his fingers seductively, or forcing them into Eames’ mouth together with the sweet treat.

“Arthur, I’m perfectly capable of eating myself.”

“I know. I just wanted you to try this one.” It was of course the one half eaten by Arthur.

“That’s enough, pet. Move your skinny arse of my desk.”

“It’s not skinny. It’s perfect.”

“Okay then, move your perfect little arse of my desk before I’ll spank you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, you don’t want to test it, darling. Trust me.”

“Fine.” Arthur stood up but didn’t leave. He turned to the desk and leaned over it to reach some insignificant paper. He pretended to study it for a moment and then he turned to check if Eames’ eyes were where he wanted them.

They were.

“See something you like, Mr. Eames?”

“Don’t be cruel, pet. Have mercy and leave me out of your silly games. I’m getting a bit brassed off with all this.”

To his surprise the forger didn’t smile, didn’t even slap his ass. He simply stood from his chair and left with an annoying Architect once again in tow.

The summer was hot and it gave Arthur a viable reason to wear one very thin white shirt he bought in Cairo two years back. It was loose and practically see through. Arthur left it untucked, rolled up his sleeves and undid two top buttons. In this shirt and a light beige slacks he looked drop dead gorgeous.

Of course Luc wasn’t far behind in his skin tight  white jeans and black tank top. The brat already had his hands on Eames when Arthur entered, dragging everyone’s attention.

“Well hello darling. You look exceptionally eatable today.”

Normally after hearing this sort of comment Arthur would flip Eames a finger, but this time he smiled and winked heading to his desk. He tripped on air after taking a better look at the forger’s face.

“You shaved?”

“Well of course, darling. I do shave. I would have a beard if I didn’t.”

Of course. It did sound logical, but still… It was so rare to see Eames without his stubble. It made him look ten years younger and strangely approachable. Arthur’s insides tightened painfully and he wondered if Luc felt the same way about their forger. Judging from the way he was hanging on Eames’ shoulders, he probably did. After meeting the point man’s eyes the architect brushed one stubble-free cheek with his fingers and quickly pressed his mouth to its smooth surface.

Eames sighed and pushed the boy away.

“Cobb, I may have to sue you for sexual harassment in my place of work.”

Cobb snorted. “Even if this job was legal I doubt you would have any chance placing charges against an underage boy.”

“I’m no’ unde’hage! We’re in F’honce! I’m adult since I was 18! And age of consent is 15 by the way! We could even marry if Eames wan’ to.”

Cobb started to laugh until tears were falling from his eyes.

“He proposed to you Eames. Come on. You have to give the kid a chance now.”

“Sure. When he’s older.” Eames didn’t seem to be as amused as his friend.

“Come on. The kid is young and horny. He can’t wait, Eames. Look at him.”

The architect looked like he was about to start humping Eames’ leg any moment. But Eames didn’t see him. He was looking at Cobb the whole time, clearly showing with his face how much he cared for the man’s words.

“Come on, Eames. Ask him out already.”

“I can’t. Arthur would rip my balls off. He and Luc are a match made in heaven. I wouldn’t dare to come between that.”

“What?”

“Just think about them together in a clothes store!” Yusuf barked out a laugh himself, already wiping tears from his eyes.

The situation was growing more annoying. There were times when Eames managed to turn it into a joke like at the picture above but often it ended up with Arthur and Luc fighting verbally or even physically, pushing and shoving, pulling on each other’s fancy shirts. Arthur wanted to crush Luc’s pretty face but he knew that Cobb would have his head if he did anything serious.

Those struggles happened even more often since Eames took it upon himself to separate them. They both enjoyed his manhandling and it only made the situation worse since they both were eager to repeat it.

“Arthur?” Cobb was pissed and Arthur couldn’t really blame him.

“Eames says it has nothing to do with him and that you pester him only to piss off Luc. I’m asking  _you_  though. What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. The job’s tomorrow. After that the brat disappears and everyone’s happy.”

“Actually, I’m going to talk to Eames after the job. He stays in my hotel so I’ll have a chance before he leaves. But before I do that I want to know what’s your problem because I’m going to convince him to give Luc a chance.”

Arthur felt cold hands gripping his heart and squeeze.

“Nothing.” His voice was not exactly cooperating. It was breaking so there was no surprise that Cobb wasn’t convinced

“Look Dom, I may not be very fond of Eames but he deserves better than this snot nosed French.”

Cobb just shook his head sadly, giving up. “You’re right that it’s over tomorrow but I don’t want to lose Eames. He’s good. Hell, he’s the best and I don’t want him to ditch me next time because you piss him off. You may not like it but we need him. This whole extracting business needs him. I give him impossible ideas and he gives me possible solutions. And no matter what crazy idea I come up with, he already done it.”

“I know! Dom! I know. I promise it won’t happen again. Next time I’ll be good.”

Dom held his eyes for a moment before he nodded. “Ok. I just hope there will be a next time, because if I were him…honestly, I would probably teach you a lesson.”

The job went smooth, according exactly to one of Eames’ simplest patterns, one of those he called ‘too dull to really happen’.

Soon they were back checking if their money has been properly transferred and Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation Cobb was going to have with Eames. He wanted to hear it. He needed to be there for it, and know if the brat had won Eames or not. Because there was still a risk that Eames really was interested and just waited for the job to end to make his move.

Picking a lock in Cobbs’ room was not a problem because it was already picked. When Arthur entered the room there was only sharp pain shooting through his head and then darkness.

When he woke up he had a tape over his mouth and his hands were tied. The place he was in could only be a closet and to his great surprise he was not alone. Luc made a shushing sound beside his ear and as much as Arthur wanted to kill him for knocking him out he stayed quiet, listening and watching through the small crack in the closet door.

“For the last time Cobb, I’m not going to date him!” Eames was sitting on Cobb’s bed. He sounded bored and tired, like it was something he already said fifty times and Cobb ignored them all. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait! Just tell me, why not?”

“Not interested.” Eames said that slowly, accenting each syllable. Obviously it wasn’t the first time he said that either.

“But _why_? Tell me…” Cobb hesitated. “Is this because of… of your…”

“My what?”

“There is someone, right? Is this person even still alive?”

There was a long heavy silence after that. Too long. Arthur realised he had been holding his breath and almost suffocated.

“I ask that myself sometimes, you know?” Eames’ eyes softened and he let out a raspy chuckle. Then he sighed heavily. He brushed his hair with his fingers and looked up at the extractor.

“Do you know why I wear these clothes?” Cobb frowned and shook his head.

"I have no idea. Actually, now that I think about it, you used to be one of the best dressed men I've ever known. Until we've met in London for um...” Cobb snapped his fingers few times. “…what was it?"  
  
“Deloite job. Exactly. That night I was in a disguise, just getting back from a recon in some dive and I was wearing something similar to this to blend in." He pinched the front of his shirt, covered in another truly bizarre pattern.

“That night you happened to introduce me to Arthur. Officially I mean.” He was speaking slowly in a low voice. “First thing he said to me was that he hated my shirt and it was in a few harsh words.” Eames’ smile was full of fondness and something almost too soft to be seen on a tough man like him.

“But at least it got his attention.” He laughed, but there was no trace of humour in it. Just some rather painful nostalgia. “It was eight years ago.” He finished making his point and apparently shocking Dom into stunned silence for good few minutes.

“Ok, I.... don't know what to say. _Arthur_?” 

Eames just laughed. “I would say it was a successful extraction on side, Mr Cobb. Now that you have the information you can leave me alone, right?”  
  
Cobb took another moment to compose himself and maybe think about everything his friend just disclosed. He must’ve been really lost. As far as Arthur knew, Cobb had never heard from Eames even one word related to his personal life. Unless of course Cobb lied to Arthur about it, but why would he? And suddenly here was the whole story about eight years of.... this.

“Ok, I get it, you know? It’s more than just attraction or infatuation. Fine. But, it's also eight _long_ years wasted on pining after a person who never gave you a time of a day. What you said only helps me to make my point. Don’t you think it’s time to throw those ugly clothes away and move on?”

“To a nineteen year old kid?" It sounded like ‘Are you dim witted?’

"Whatever float's your boat."

"For Pete’s sake, Cobb! He's nineteen!"

“He's crazy about you. He wants you with every freaking fibre of his young, perfect body.”

“He just wants me to fuck him.”

“Then fuck him.”

“No.”

"Why?"

"Because I would never get rid of him if I did."

Cobb laughed. "Now that's some impressive confidence..."

"It's experience." Eames wasn't even smiling. "I've been through this twice.”

Cobb was just looking expectantly. Finally Eames shrugged, rubbed his face and continued.

“Your second extraction from me today: Cute boys, gorgeous even. The first still sends love letters to my London address, while the other wrote only one; right before he cut his veins after I left in the morning. I still have it. It reminds me why dealing with brats is a bad idea."

Arthur listened, completely stunned as the realisation dawned on him. He knew nothing about Eames. Before hearing this conversation he didn't know even a single relevant thing about him. Apparently neither did Dom and still he tried to preach to him about his life style and romantic interests. It was laughable.  
  
Eames stood up and picked his mud coloured jacket.

"Eames... I'm sorry."

"No reason to apologise, Dom. But... If it were about you and Mal, with me trying to convince you to move on, and calling your attention a wasted time, you would punch me. I just hope you appreciate that I didn't."  
  
At this point Cobb probably wanted to punch himself.

"I wish you would. Maybe then I would feel at least a little less like a complete asshole."

"Look, Cobb. I appreciate your concern. I really do. And I'm  _not_  saying that it's none of your business, it's just that.... you don't have enough information on the mark to do the job this time, alright?"

"Yeah, just... I just realised how stupid I was. I… I’m starting to think I don’t really know you at all.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? You know you can count on me, Dom.”

“I know. But still… you just told me more about yourself in these five minutes that you did in the last ten years. You joke about extraction but that’s what it takes to get to know anything about you. It’s like pulling teeth. You don’t make it easy to get to know you, Eames.”

“Because I learn my lessons, Dom. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just how I am. Just… ignore me, ok? You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Are you? Because… When I needed help I told you and Arthur and Miles and all of you helped me out. And something tells me that you wouldn’t tell me. I don’t even know if there is anyone you would tell.”

Eames rolled his eyes this time.

“Ok, now I’m starting to think that you’re either drunk or lost your mind. I am fine, Dominic. You want me to be more open? Fine. You get the third extraction as a bonus. Just to make you stop worrying. I took a job. It will take some time, about a year, probably two… maybe more. So, I will be off the dream sharing business for a while.”

“What? You can’t do that!”

“Why not? The kid will forget and let Arthur into his pants. He will be less grumpy.”

“But… why? Is it about the money?”

“No. It’s not the money. You know I have much more than just the Fisher share. It’s just something I decided to do. Get off your hair for a while, sort myself out.” He snorted. “Maybe buy some new clothes.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, where I go I won’t need new clothes.”

“Doesn’t sound so good.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than I look. And smarter, if I say so myself.”

“I know. It’s for the government, isn’t it?”

“Government? I’m an international criminal.” Eames teased.

“I knew it. How do you do this, huh? One day an outlaw and the other…”

“Hey! I did not say it was for the government.”

“You didn’t have to. They will never let you go for too long. Can I talk you out of this?”

“Now you want to attempt an inception? No, you can’t. I already agreed few days ago.”

“Good luck, Eames. But remember that if you need anything you _can_ ask me.”

“Take care of Arthur.”

“I will. I promise.”

The forger shrugged awkwardly not really knowing what else to do.

“Eames… If not for you I would never see my kids again. I want you to know that I really do appreciate what you did. And I’m sorry. You trusted me and I only proved that you shouldn’t have.”

“No, Dom… It wasn’t about that. You know me, I wouldn’t mind to see how it is in a limbo. I would find my way back. It wasn’t that.” He took a deep breath. “You yelled at Arthur and you blamed him for your screw up. It pissed me off. You put  _him_  in danger. If he ended up trapped in your sub consciousness I think I would have killed you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I know….”

“Take care of yourself, Eames, ok?”

“Thanks, Dom.”

Eames smiled and it definitely reached his eyes this time. Dominic pulled him into a bear hug and the man responded in favour.

“Damn it, Eames. You’re built like a freaking boxer. You really do hide well in these rugs.”

Eames laughed. “Yeah, it helps to take my opponents by surprise.”

“I’m sure it does. I hope we’ll meet again soon.”

“Well, I doubt anyone will actually miss me, but I  _do_  hope we’ll meet again... someday.”

“Are you kidding? The kid will cry his eyes out.”

“Yes, I don’t doubt that he will. Just make sure he doesn’t follow.”

Cobb slapped his friend’s muscled shoulder again and walked out with him. Arthur instantly head butted Luc and tried to get out of the closet to run after the forger, but he was tied which gave the architect an upper hand. A kick to the stomach wasn’t enough to stop Arthur and even restrained he put up a vicious fight against the fragile looking blond boy whose broken nose was bleeding all over the floor.

They struggled for good ten minutes until Arthur managed to get rid of the tie from around his wrists and knocked the kid to the floor. That’s when Luc pulled out a gun.

“Stay whe’ you are o’ I’ll shoot you.”

“He doesn’t want you to follow him!!!” Arthur tried to remain calm but his voice was breaking. Eames was getting farer away with every wasted moment.

“’cause he doesn’ understand! I’m not like dat! I will be good to ‘im and you stay away! You’ve had yo’ chance! Eight years! And you wasted it on treatin’ ‘im like shit!”

“Luc… Let’s go after him together. Come on, we have to stop him.”

“You o’ly say dat because you wan’ him an’ you know he will choose you. I don’ wan’ to kill you but he will always choose you… Pardonnez-moi, Ah’tur.”

Just when Arthur fell to the floor to dodge the flying bullet Cobb stepped back into the room and seeing Luc shooting he grabbed the boy from behind and knocked him out.

“Fuck. You were both here all this time?”

“Sorry, Dom. I need to go.”

Arthur ran out of the building leaving Cobb to deal with restraining Luc and talking to the hotel’s manager.

It wasn’t easy to explain a gunshot in his room.

Arthur reached Charles De Gaulle Airport about half an hour later and spent the next two hours trying to find Eames but the thief was gone and neither of them knew where he was headed.

**TBC**


	3. Needle in a haystack??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here's the third chapter. I don't feel too certain about it but it's been over a week since I last updated and I can't find a BETA, so,.. here it is... It's short, but the next one has already 7K!  
> Arrthur is looking for Eames and learns about the Forger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ver much for kudos, people!!!  
> kz109 - THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! This chapter is dedicated to...... YOU!

In one day the dream sharing business had lost its best forger and the best point man.

They both disappeared leaving Cobb alone and angry. Cobb let the crazy kid go, afraid that he would rat on them to the police in revenge. For a moment he feared that Luc would try to hurt Arthur in the future but quickly he realised that most likely it was going to be the other way around. Arthur was blinded by fury and the only reason why he didn’t immediately go after the kid to rip his head off was his determination to see Eames. Cobb advised the kid to lay low for a while until Arthur cools off.

Like Arthur could ever forget!

He would be back for the little prick’s blood as soon as he makes sure Eames is alright. After all it was all his freaking fault that Eames had enough and left.

And finding the con when he didn’t want to be found was almost impossible.

He searched Eames’ past slowly discovering small facts leading him further into the rabbit hole. After almost two months he was lost completely but he still pressed forward spending shocking amount of money on his research.

At first Arthur didn’t even know where to start. He spent over seven hundred euro on 14 hour flight to Mombasa, with a stop in Addis Ababa, not really expecting to catch him there, but still hoping to find some leads. Spending four hours on the Ethiopian airport waiting for his next flight cooled Arthur’s head a little. He couldn’t really understand why he was doing this. Why would he go even further south right to the freaking equator for a man who wasn’t even there? He had no answer to that.

It was the second time he was in Kenya. Few years back he accompanied Cobb when the extractor went there to talk Eames into one of their craziest jobs. Dom was sure Eames would not go for it so Arthur tagged along to persuade the forger. The moment his eight hundred dollars shoes touched the scorched ground of the Moi International Airport Arthur swore he would never visit that country again. It was hell. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would actually choose to live there. It was just one more thing about Eames Arthur could not explain. Asked ‘why’ the forger always said it was a good place to hide. But was it really? Being a white man among almost completely black population? It was stupid! Then again it did suit the man in some twisted way with its strange blend of India, Arabia and Asia. It did have some strange intoxicating charm being at the same time grimy and sleazy, hot with ethnic tensions and security concerns ready to boil over. Cities by the docks always attract mad characters and Mombasa’s came from all over the world.

On the airport in Paris Arthur bought a Lonely Planet guide to Kenya to kill time on the plane reading about Eames’ home. It said: _“city of salt and spice, of dreams and of battles…”_ Surely the city of dreams was a good place for a man like Eames. There were also the words of a classical Swahili poet, Muyaka, who wrote that _“It does not reveal the great secrets it holds.”_  
Needless to say that it did not sound very optimistic.

Arthur knew that Eames owned a house somewhere in Port Reitz but neither him nor Dom had ever been there. It took him two days of bribing people to find the place. It had a high fence but the wild flora abundantly thriving behind it made for an even better barrier. It looked like a jungle. There was a chain with a padlock on the gate but Arthur spotted some movement inside. He circled the fence as stealthily as the crispy banana leaves let him, and moved toward the noise. There was a small hole in the fence which Arthur boldly used to get inside. The house was small but had a big terrace with a hammock. The Indian Ocean hummed invitingly from somewhere behind the house, bamboo wind chimes played their lazy melody and some exotic birds sang to its tune. Arthur suddenly felt very tired and sleepy.

“Who are you?”

Arthur rubbed his eyes and looked questioningly at a small black boy crawling from under the terrace steps.

“Who are you?”

He was maybe six years old, but astonishingly brave aiming at the point man with his sling-shot. Arthur raised his arms in surrender.

“Hi! My name is Arthur. I’m looking for my friend.”

“Arthur?” The weapon has been lowered instantly. “You’re Arthur?” The boy walked up to the man and curiously touched his tie and his waistcoat. Arthur should have leaved them at the hotel but didn’t. He needed something to keep him sane in this hell.

“You are!” The boy’s eyes were huge and Arthur couldn’t help but smile.

“I am. And I’m looking for Eames.”

“Mr. Eames is not home. I’m Elim… I feed Arthur.” The boy was saying the name with the exact same accent Eames did. It was cute.

“Arthur?”

“He’s a parrot.” The boy crossed his arms over his chest. He was dressed in a huge od t-shirt that fitted him like a dress. He seemed extremely serious, scowling all the time and tapping his bare foot impatiently. Arthur tried not to laugh.

“A parrot? Of course, um… Elim, can you tell me when was the last time Eames was here?”

Arthur pulled a yellowish bill out of his pocket. The boy’s scowl only deepened, so Arthur pulled out anther thousand shilling bill.

“Elim will not sell a friend! Mr Eames is a friend.”

“I’m sorry, Elim. I didn’t mean that. He’s my friend too, you know?”

“Are you sure you’re Arthur?”

“Of course, I’m sure.”

The boy gave him a long onceover. “You  _do_  look like Arthur.”

“Like the parrot?”

“No… Like the real Arthur…” The point man was dying to know what that meant but didn’t dare to interrogate the kid. He didn’t want to scare him off.

“I am. And I’m really worried about Eames. He disappeared and I’m afraid he will get in trouble.”

“Trouble?” The boy’s huge eyes began to water. “…only because you’re Arthur… Elim will tell. But you must help Eames.”

“I will, Elim. I promise.”

“He was here last week. Gave Elim money and this card to buy food for Arthur and medicine for my mama… said it should pay for the doctor too.”

He held out a credit card, but Arthur didn’t take it. He just knelt down and made Elim hide it back into his pocket.

“It’s alright, Elim. Hide it well and don’t lose it. Do you know how to use it?”

The boy nodded eagerly. “Mr. Eames showed. Elim knows.”

“Good. Do you know where he is?”

“Mr Eames took matatus to the airport.”

“Do you know where he was going?”

“No… But there were letters on the ticket.”

“What letters?” The boy took his sling-shot and wrote letters in the sand.

“Mr Eames teaches me how to write.” Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

“LGW? It’s Gatwick! It’s an airport in London. Thank you! Thank you so much Elim.”

He ruffled the kid’s hair making the serious kid almost smile.

“You look tired.”

“Well, I am.” It was hard to pretend he wasn’t when sweat was oozing from every pore of his body.

“Come. Say ‘hello’ to Arthur. I’ll make a drink for you. I sometimes make drinks for Mr Eames. I know how.”

Eames followed the kid inside. The house was cool and shadowed. It smelled like wood and like Eames... Arthur was afraid that if he sat down on the extremely comfortable looking couch he would fall asleep for a week. Suddenly a glass of perfectly prepared and icy cool margarita appeared in his hand. He thanked his little host and moved through the house toward the back entrance. The sight that met his eyes took his breath away. The ocean was much closer than Arthur anticipated. The shore was beautiful with a sandy beach and lots of palm trees. The rocky hill on which Eames’ house was situated assured some distance and height just enough to make the sight truly picturesque. Somehow Arthur was beginning to understand why Eames chose this place as his home.

“Whose that boat?”

Arthur pointed with his glass to the small and unstable looking jetty.

“Mr Eames’. Want to go fishing with Elim?”

“I would love to, Elim, but not this time. Now I need to find Eames. When I do I promise we will go together.”

The parrot was huge, colourful and irritating. Apparently Eames tried to teach the bird how to speak but all it could actually say was “I love you, Mr Eames.”

Arthur wouldn’t mind spending few days in that peaceful place, but he had already booked the first flight to London.

Cobb was pestering him with phone calls at least every other day.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Dom. I may actually be onto something this time.”

Finally in London it was not his skills but pure freaking luck that he happened to stumble upon his next lead. It got him a name of someone who worked with Eames in the past as his commanding officer back when Eames was a reckless youth with strange ideas and fists ready to punch quicker than he could think. One very expensive source led Arthur to the right table in the right pub and instructed him to keep the steady flow of Famous Grouse in the soldier’s glass.

“Such an elegant young man asking about an international criminal with… significantly bad reputation isn’t something I see every day. What do you want from him?”

Arthur’s blush was so ridiculously strong that the man started to laugh before the ex-point man  had a chance to voice his answer.

“He always had it, you know? Cute boys would line up just to see him. Soldiers, civilians, and the damn general’s youngest son. I never understood why. He’s not even that handsome.”

“He fucked the general’s son?”

“His youngest! His favourite little angel.” The man laughed heartily. “It was about ten years ago. The kid was… maybe sixteen or seventeen and he was so gorgeous. Too bad he wasn’t a girl. Eames was supposed to keep an eye on him and his mother for a few days in their mansion. Someone threatened the general back then. I should’ve known better than to send Eames, but… the general asked for him specifically. Maybe the brat already had his big blue eyes on your man, I don’t know.”

“He’s not mine… not really.”

“Yeah, and why am I not surprised? You know, for a long time I thought that he had a gal somewhere to marry and settle down. Only when he made a Captain I found out he didn’t go for ladies at all.”

“Captain? Eames was an officer?”

“And a bloody good  one but he wasn’t really cut out for the army, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, Major, I believe I do. I still can’t believe he made it that far.”

“Yes, he liked to get in trouble but when it comes to certain skills there’s still no one to even compare with him. He has no match and his criminal record is nothing against that. The government will always ask him for help until someone else at least as good shows up.”

“So what was the story with this boy? What did Eames do?”

“I’m not sure. What I know, and what everyone knows, is that Eames was twenty-five and the kid was sixteen. The general was royally pissed. He would kill Eames if not for that kid. That boy…. He was coming to the barracks at least three times a day looking for him, skipping school, making doe eyes and even sending freaking love letters. When Eames decided to take the transfer to UKSF it was not because he was ambitious. He had no choice. The general would ruin his life if he didn’t. It was a mess, mate, I’m telling you. UKSF was relatively new back then and in some way independent. It was good for him, I think. They had better use for his talents.”

“Where did they take him?”

“I’m not sure, but he went through ranks in Unconventional Warfare, Covert reconnaissance and Infrastructure disruption. I’m sure it’s not even a half of it. Officially, he took off after two years, but I know for sure he was back for some random missions in the last ten years at least four times.” The man held up three fingers only now reminding Arthur that he was drunk.

“Amazing…. I had no idea. And I know him over eight years.”

“Believe me, if he doesn’t want you to know, you won’t know.”

“Now I do know.”

“Because he let you. I’ve heard about you, Arthur.”

“How do you know my name?” Arthur let his guard down. He underestimated the man believing that he was just some drunkard spilling information as steadily as the whisky was being poured to his glass. Arthur should have known better. The man was no better than Eames himself; crooks, cons, liars… He started to doubt the man was even tipsy.

“I knew before you even walked through this door that it’s you. I heard him say your name far too many times, either while talking to you on the phone or in some silly anecdotes where you didn’t shoot a guy because you didn’t want to stain your new suit.”

Arthur blushed like a fire engine while the Major continued. “Eames doesn’t let things like that slip. If he did, he had a reason. It’s actually the only reason why I even talk to you right now. Otherwise no money in the world would bring you to this table.”

“Fuck…”

“I tried to ask him about you once but there’s no way to make him reveal information he doesn’t want to give. So, Arthur- can I call you that?”

“Sure…”

“What do you want, Arthur?”

“I’m looking for him. I already told you.”

“What for?”

 “I need to know if he meant something he said before leaving.”

“Oh, really?” He was grinning with clearly no doubt in his mind about what Eames had said. “But you already know the answer to that, mate, don’t you? What do you  _really_  want?”

Arthur was glad he was sitting because the question would knock him off his feet.

“Well?”

Arthur stayed silent. He had no idea what to say. He had no time to think it through. He was busy looking for Eames and he was sure he would figure it out when the time comes.

“I don’t know. Maybe… I  just want to see him.”

“Your name is the only one he ever mentioned. It’s not something you can ignore. He won’t tell you anything personal on his own but he drops hints sometimes, and this one was huge, like a  street sign. I think it meant that you mean a lot to him but… maybe that’s just my assumption. Now, he made sure to take a job you would have no way to trail. He made sure to cut you off! If you ask me, I think he doesn’t want to see you. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? He confessed, apparently, and you did nothing? Don’t you think it’s a good reason to avoid you?”

“He didn’t say it to me. I… overheard him talking to someone else.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” The man was playing with a toothpick in his mouth and it reminded Arthur of Eames, made him wonder if the forger picked the awful habit from this drunkard.

“Fine, I’ve been hiding in a closet and I was eavesdropping on purpose. Happy?”

“Not really. In a closet you say? How appropriate…”

“Shut up. Will you help me to find him or not?”

“Why didn’t you talk to him right away?”

“Because of the fucking kid who almost shot me to stop me.”

“Another brat? How old?”

“Nineteen... maybe. Maybe not.”

“Bloody hell! He really does still have it. He’s what? Thirty-six?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do to deserve the bullet?”

“Well… Eames practically said that… well, he didn’t exactly say it but he… suggested… sort of…”

“Well, well, I must say I never thought I would live to see the day! Eames in love? Really?…”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I find him.”

“…He’s undercover. It’s for important people. You will have to wait.”

“I waited eight years.”

“What can I say? It’s too late. I’ve heard that this is rather… long term.”

“I  _will_  find him.”

“Why are you young people always like that? He was pestering you for eight years and only now, when he finally leaves you alone, you suddenly make up your mind… I can already hear him laughing.”

Arthur wished he could too. He didn’t hear Eames’ laugh too often.

“He wasn’t actually honest with me through those years, you know? I worked with him from time to time but honestly, I don’t even know him.”

“He let you know what you needed to know.”

“Bull shit! He told me nothing!”

“Maybe he had his reasons. Or… maybe you confused him and he didn’t know what to tell you. If so, then you’re the first person  _ever that_  he couldn’t figure out.”

Arthur laughed remembering those exact words coming from the forger.

“Just tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you know who knows.”

“I know who knows. But Eames was here before he left... Asked me to not talk to his clients. However, he never said anything about talking to you. You’re not his client… Then again I think he never expected  _you_  to come after him.”

“Yes, well… let’s say I’m surprised myself. But here I am. Now tell me where I should go next.”

“Are you going to blow his cover?”

For a moment Arthur weighted his options and in the end decided that maybe honesty would get him somewhere with this man. “Probably.”

“Alright. If I actually really help you then it’s only because the place where they keep him is hell. I told him not to do it but he was so... It’s dangerous. I know he can take care of himself but in places like that you can get hurt in many ways…”

“Where the hell is he?! TELL ME! NOW!”

It took Arthur another two weeks to gather all information, buy the right people and finally find his way in. Those weeks were the longest fourteen days in his life; time of constant frustration and unspeakable worry.

 

TBC (Sorry, Eames is in the next chapter.)


	4. Highway to hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is almost done so it will be sooner.

Gods how he wanted to have Eames back already. Even if the man was no longer interested in him… He just wanted to know that the idiot was safe. When he parted with Cobb and took off to find the forger, his hopes were high. He imagined their meeting in a romantic comedy style, with sweet kisses and hot sex. Just a thought about it made Arthur’s insides burn and his cock throb.

Everything he had heard back then, hidden in Cobb’s wardrobe was like a dream. Eames wanting him for real would be a miracle in its own right. Eames being possibly in love with him for years was beyond his imagination.

If Eames wanted him all this time and forged his own weird identity specifically for this purpose then why it looked almost as if he wanted to show himself as a lesser man to Arthur’s eyes. Why? Why was he hiding his true self? What was the purpose? If he wanted to seduce Arthur, or to make him fall in love with him, he should pretend to be something more, not less! So, what was his fucking problem? A freaking James Bond dressed like a hobo and making fun of Arthur every chance he got. Where did he think it would take him? Surely not to Arthur’s bed! No, Sir! Arthur had standards!

The point man wondered if everything would be different if only he hadn’t lashed out at Eames on that first day when they met? If he only kept his mouth shut and didn’t comment on his clothes, what would Eames do? Would he still wear his fancy suits like he apparently did before they had met? Arthur couldn’t believe that this one moment, one mistake could cost him so much. He didn’t mean to be rude but he held a grudge against the forger for tricking him some time earlier when he and Cobb visited him in his dream. Dom agreed to that only to prove to Arthur that the man was good. And then Eames really shocked him with those ugly clothes. They had no place on such an attractive person. And the sudden, unexpected lust he woke up in Arthur made the younger man so confused and honestly scared that he snapped, shocking Dom with his blatant rudeness.

He wanted to turn back time. He wanted to kick Eames’ ass for all those years of unnecessary pining, jealousy and painful feelings.

Then, on the other hand, he was aware that Eames was the one treated like shit by Arthur, on good days. Even Cobb said that Eames was acting stupid still wanting Arthur’s skinny ass. And he was right. Arthur didn’t deserve the forger’s attention. The man was brilliant, handsome, strong and sexy. Then also mysterious, infuriating, gentle, charming… and so impossibly confusing in million different ways, while Arthur was… dull and a stick in the mud. But it was still Arthur ignoring Eames, not the other way around. It was Eames smiling and Arthur frowning. Eames offering sweet words and Arthur responding with nothing but condescension and bitterness. Eames sending kisses and Arthur flipping him a finger. That, more or less, was a sum up of their relationship.

Eight years.

Arthur would not be surprised if Eames’ patience ran out; if it turned out to be too late. But he had to try. He needed to bring Eames back and know that he was safe.

He needed to know if there still was a chance…

Then realisation that maybe they could have been together for the last eight years made him want to cry. All those looks and teasing words, all that flirting was really something so special and precious that Arthur suddenly couldn’t live without it any more. He wanted it back. He wanted to be able to see Eames.

Of course, now he wasn’t optimistic at all. All that fear of rejection was back full force because it was possible that Eames wouldn’t want him anymore, that he moved on and ‘bought new clothes’...

Arthur had no time to waste. He booked the first available flight to Syria but it still took him over 55 hours to get to Damascus. From Gatwick in London in two hours he reached Stockholm only to spend the next 24 hours waiting for the plane to Russia. He spent the night in his favourite hotel and got smashed. Just thinking about Eames in a prison was making him sick, but knowing that he was in a hell on Earth was absolutely killing him. He couldn’t stand waiting any longer. Every minute could be Eames’ last. Of course he knew Eames was strong but what if it was not enough? What if…

Arthur refused to think about anything. He was on his way to Eames and that was all that mattered. Soon they would be together and he had to stick to this thought. If Eames was hurt, Arthur would just take him away… he absolutely wasn’t considering the possibility of Eames not being alive because no matter how much the other man liked to piss him off he still wouldn’t do THAT to Arthur. He would not.

So Arthur drank and forgot to eat. His next flight was only around noon, but he still barely made it on time. It landed in Moscow two hours later, but with one hour time difference he was there technically three hours later and still had seven hours to kill. He didn’t dare to repeat the procedure from Stockholm. He was tempted to catch some sleep but he wasn’t sure if a Russian airport was a good place for that. He decided to nap on the plane instead and even answered Dom’s call out of sheer boredom and loneliness. He refused to tell Cobb where he was headed.

“I’m getting closer, Dom. It’s all that matters.”

Arthur could tell that Dominic wanted to protest but something was stopping him.

“Why are you doing this, Arthur? You have to tell me. What happened?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Dom.”

“Are you sure? Because I begged you to not scare him off and he disappeared without trace. I think you feel guilty and you want to fix it, but It wasn’t your fault, Arthur. He just… moved on.”

“I… I really fucking hope you’re wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because! It would mean it’s too late.”

“For what?”

“For everything! Never mind, Dom.”

“Arthur, please… I promised him I would take care of you and I don’t even know where you are.”

“Moscow.”

“Moscow? Weren’t you going to Stockholm like yesterday?”

“I was in Stockholm. Now I’m in Moscow.”

“Is he there?”

“No. No, he’s… not. He’s elsewhere.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Buy my way to him, ask him to come back.”

“He won’t. If he took the job, he will do it.”

“Then I’ll blow his cover and he will have no choice.”

“Cover? He’s undercover? I didn’t know he was still forging in real life.”

“Yeah, I bet there’s a few more things you didn’t know about him.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. But what are you expecting him to do if you blow his assignment? He won’t be too happy about that. I think it’s something big!”

“I… I don’t know.”

“If you’re going to ruin his job for the government you better have a good reason. He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t hurt me.”

“Now, are you really so sure about that?”

“Of course! He said… he…” Arthur choked on his words. What did Eames actually say back then? He didn’t really confess, he didn’t even say he liked Arthur. He didn’t say ANYTHING really. He merely suggested. Fucking bastard.

“It’s alright, Arthur. I was just teasing you. Are you going to tell him that you’ve heard him?”

“Well…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “That’s the plan.”

“Is this why you’re chasing him?”

“Look, I fucked it up and I’m going to fix it. There is nothing you can say or do to stop me.”

“Fix what? He’s not the type to want to talk about stuff like that. Why don’t you let him deal with this the way he wants?”

“He ran away! How’s that a dealing with anything”

“He’s just trying to give you some space.”

“Who said I want space?”

“You did. Every time he tried to get closer.”

Arthur’s eyes stung from sudden assault of salty moisture. Damn it. He was so stupid. If he could only see Eames now he would jump him straight away. He would kiss him senseless, lock him in his bedroom and never let go.

He bordered the next plane after ten pm and went out like a light. Even though the flight took less than four hours he was in Teheran at 3:25 am. He slept through the whole trip this time so he wasn’t sure what to do with the next 14 hours on the airport in Iran. He made sure to have two real meals and some symbolic drinks with them, just to make sure he didn’t get sick.

The plane was getting lower and Arthur watched the white city of Damascus bathed in the yellow sun of the late afternoon. It looked marvellous, but Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to care. He looked at the wonders around with unseeing and uncaring eyes, his mind focused on his goal. After six pm when he left the airport he was already on his last legs. He leaned his back on the white openwork of the building’s beautiful walls and considered going to a hotel. There was one near the airport, Safir something or other… It had air conditioning and a laundry service. Pictures on a leaflet looked very promising, and catching some real sleep before heading to Tadmur was really tempting but, Arthur couldn’t wait any longer. He rented a car for 80 dollars a day and hit the road. The Damascus-Baghdad Highway was in surprisingly good shape and the signs were clear enough to not even need a map. The first showed: Derezzor, Palmyra, Addmeir and Baghdad. The next said he had 213km to Palmyra. He hoped to be in Tadmur in less than three hours, maybe two if the rented Mitsubishi allowed him.

Aside from the endless desert he passed one small workshop, two herds of sheep and three cafés, all three called BAGDAD CAFÉ 66. Then there were military airfields and tanks and that made Arthur’s insides twist in knots.

Tadmor Military Prison was dubbed by Amnesty International as the most oppressive prison in the world. Every aspect of it was said to be designed to dehumanize its populace. It became more infamous in eighties for ordered killings of all prisoners as retaliation for the attempted assassination on the President by the Muslim Brotherhood. Arthur heard that the clean-up massacre that lasted for 2 weeks killed over 2,000 inmates but he doubted the numbers were true. It was a hell hole though. It was a place where prisoners were beaten, starved and tortured on a regular basis; a place where surviving every single day was a challenge and every day survived was a success.

Arthur had no secret plan, no brilliant ideas of how to survive, but he also never hesitated with his decision to simply go there. Only when he met his contact the reality of the situation started to dawn on him. Until then it was only about Eames, but when Arthur was being hauled through the heavy gates of the prison complex, when he watched them close behind the military bus sealing his fate, he started to worry. How was he going to save Eames if he would have trouble living through a day? He may be dead or raped (or both!) before he even finds the forger at all.

They stepped out of the bus one by one and lined up, clouds of dust obscuring their vision. The guards were soldiers, dressed in black uniforms; all heavy armed with machine guns, strapped with ammunition belts and shemaghs wrapped around their heads.  

Arthur lifted his head to take a look at other prisoners in line. Nine were Arabic, three black two white, including Arthur. Dust was everywhere. It was getting into Arthur’s eyes, mouth, nose and ears. The air was hot and dry, making it hard to breathe. He was thirsty.

There was no entrance speech from their warden, no formalities. A tall guard walked up to them and said something to one of the Arabic prisoners in line. The man answered and the guard lifted his gun. Short series ripped the man apart not two feet away from Arthur, covering the point man’s face with splashes of warm blood.

“Asre’!!! Ta’ala ma’ee!”

Arthur didn’t have to speak Arabic to understand that they were being urged forward. The problem was that his body refused to cooperate and his stomach decided to suddenly empty its content onto the sand underneath his feet. Another guard approached him and took a swing with his gun, attempting to hit him with the handle.

“Laa!!!” The other guard’s yelling stopped the movement and Arthur almost threw up again out of sheer relief. If he had been hit right then he doubted he would ever wake up again.

“Matha?” The guy who was going to hit Arthur seemed confused, but the one who yelled only laughed at him.

“A’jabani haggan!”

After that they didn’t pay any more attention to him so he moved hurriedly inside, together with the rest.

“He said he liked the way you look.”

At first Arthur started to look around trying to guess whose whisper he was hearing. Surely it was too soon to have hallucinations.

“Head down.”

He dropped his head again and saw bare feet right beside his. It was that other white man from their group.

“They let you live because you’re pretty.”

Despite the scorching heat Arthur felt overwhelming cold wrapping around his racing heart almost freezing it into a stop.

“Oh shit.” They got inside some dark building and the door behind them closed. When all bolts were in place another door in front of them opened.

“Stay quiet and don’t lift your head. Get yourself something to cover your head as soon as you can.”

Like when? And how? Arthur doubted he would even reach the actual inside of the prison. He could still feel some dirty looks on his back making his hair stand on ends. He would die in some freaking Syrian prison and Eames would never even know that Arthur didn’t really hate him at all…

He gasped feeling a sharp shove and moved forward through a dark passage. The cool shelter of the shadowed space was a blessing. Arthur wanted to shed every single piece of his clothing right there but baring more skin would only get him more attention. He needed to bear with it for a little longer. They were approaching another gate leading to a blinding light. Arthur’s legs were refusing to cooperate, made him stumble to slow him down but someone helped him up quickly and discreetly. It was the man from before, the one who could understand Arabic. Just knowing that there was a person who was willing to help him made Arthur’s spirits lift. He could do it. He would get in there and take Eames back.

All his freshly built bravado evaporated instantly when his eyes gotten used to the blinding sun bathing the main yard in its tormenting heat. It looked like a work camp with majority of people starved almost to death. Some of them were looking into the yard from the surrounding buildings through the bars, some were scattered all around the place. All inmates were dirty and seemed malnourished. Most of them was wearing trousers and shirts with long sleeves, but some had nothing but a cloth around their loins. In the middle of the dust space among the catatonic crowd lay a body with opened eyes, half eaten by birds and worms, another one was hanging on the eastern wall.

The only thought in Arthur’s head was Eames.

“Come on.” Someone nudged him from behind and Arthur moved not knowing what else to do. He walked toward the building trying to keep his head down and hide his face.

“Hey, my name’s Michael. What are you in for?”

Arthur hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal anything about himself to anyone in this place but then again maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to make some friends. The man was wearing some remnants of US Army uniform.

“Arthur…”

“You’re American.” Arthur was tempted to pretend he was French but the man wasn’t asking. He already knew.

“Yes.”

“But not a soldier, huh?”

“No. I….” It was not easy to explain why he was there…

“Was in a wrong place in a wrong time? Me too.”

“Actually, I’m looking for someone.”

“What?”

“I’m looking for someone who is supposed to be locked in here.”

“You mean you’re here of your own volition?”

“Something like that.”

“Who sent you?”

“No one.”

"Huh... That’s a good one. You know, I'm a deserter. I almost made it, man... almost. I’d rather do time in our prison… What about your man? What is he in for? Are you even sure he’s here?”

“Yes.”

“You sure he’s not dead?” The man had Arthur’s knife digging into his throat before he managed to finish the sentence.

“Sorry… I'm sorry, man. He's alive. Easy. How did you manage to get this knife in here?”

“I have my ways. He IS alive.” Arthur refused to even think about any other possibility. And he wouldn't let anyone else to think that either.

“Ok, put down the knife. Jesus… crazy fucker.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“Right, then what are you doing here?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, man. Stay with me. I’ll help you find the guy. How does he look like?”

“Strong built, full red lips, flirty smile and hazel eyes…” Arthur stopped talking instantly seeing the man’s reaction. Okay, maybe that was not the most useful description…

“I mean… He’s a Brit. He… fuck it.” Arthur didn’t know what to say. He knew that Eames was there under a different name. He stepped toward the first inmate around and grabbed his collar.

“Tom Conlon! Do you know where I can find him? Thomas Conlon?” He didn’t expect them to speak  English but hoped that they would catch the name and point him in the right direction. They all looked weak and sick. They were not much of a threat.

Arthur moved from one prisoner to another asking the same question over and over until one man repeated the name. “Mr Conlon…”

And he pointed to the Eastern wing of the building. Arthur felt like he grew wings. He started to run straight there, his pale boyish face in full view. He almost made it to the wall when guards caught him. Someone put a dirty cloth over his head and pushed him inside. Two men grabbed his arms pulling him somewhere ignoring his efforts to break free like it was nothing. He tried to scream but there was this cloth in his mouth too. He briefly wondered why they haven’t knocked him out yet. Of course he wasn’t complaining because if that happened, he would never see Eames again. He concentrated his full energy on bending his body back to head butt the man to his right. He wasn’t even close. The man must’ve been huge.

Then he was shoved forward and almost fell onto the hard concrete.

“Laa! A’teni hatheh. As re’!”

Someone removed the cloth from his mouth and from around his head and he was faced with three guards. Two were still holding his arms, while the third was just staring, licking his lips. When he took one step toward Arthur they heard one more man somewhere farther to the side,beyond Arthur’s line of vision.

“Hala!”

Arthur knew that voice. Oh gods he loved that voice. Butterflies fluttered their wings happily in his stomach and suddenly everything was right with the world.

Arthur almost blurted out Eames’ name but his throat was too tight with onslaught of emotion.

Eames rolled his neck and stretched his arms as a subtle reminder of his strength. He was wearing trousers and some used-to-be-white long tunic reaching down to his knees. There was a dark shemagh tied loosely around his neck and he had some sort of a belt around his middle. He clearly lost some weight but aside from that he seemed to be fine.

"Marhabbah, Mr Conlon."

"Gentlemen… I have the information you asked about.” Eames’ tone was low and quiet. He wasn’t looking at Arthur at all.

“Not now, Conlon! Unless you want a show.”

"I’m here for business.”

The forger was acting strangely unfamiliar planting a seed of fear and panic in Arthur’s heart. He seemed to not even recognize him. Was it possible that he finally lost it? Maybe he had amnesia?

“Later!” The guard was growing impatient.

“Now or I’ll go to someone else.” Eames’ tone was cool and even. Arthur expected the guard to either start shooting or laugh. He had a machine gun and prisoner's lives were of not much worth in this place as it seemed, but the man frowned instead.

“Coos okt al laglesh…” Whatever that meant, it made one corner of Eames’ mouth twitch slightly in amusement. The guard scowled at him even more and spat more words in his face. “Bad timing!”

And right then Arthur felt the grip on his arms loosen slightly. The men holding him were distracted enough for Arthur to break free and run so he did so without thinking about machine guns aimed at his back. When the shooting started he wasn’t even sure if he was still running or if he was already dead. When he dared to open his eyes he was in some dark place, pushed up against a wall, with someone’s had over his lips.

“Quiet.” Came the soft whisper right next to his ear and then the hand was being removed, very slowly. Arthur steadied his breathing and moved his head to look back outside and see what happened. Eames was still standing, surrounded by more guards. He was shrugging as if to say he had no idea what happened. There was a dead body at his feet, lying in a pool of blood. One guard hit Eames with a butt of his rifle and Arthur winced seeing blood spluttering from his temple. He only realized that he was moving when a pair of hands stopped him.

“No! Stay. Mr Conlon’s good. You stay quiet.”

Eames was on the ground, obviously in pain and his head was bleeding profusely, but he was alive.

“They won’t kill Mr Conlon. Mr Conlon good for business.”

Of course. A con was con. It has always been one of Eames’ many talents. He was always good for business and he was irritatingly good at adapting to circumstances. He could somehow live on Cobol’s backyard while still working with Cobb and no one even bat an eye. The bastard was working for the freaking government having a criminal record which probably had a separate room in Scotland yard’s Archives just to fit it in. So, of course, why not make a career in a Syrian prison as that white crook who is ‘good for business’? Arthur fucking hated him sometimes.

“Darling! Fancy meeting you here. How do you do?” And sometimes loved everything about him, especially that raspy voice. 


	5. Lock up

**Chapter 5**

Eames was pressing something to his temple, trying to stop the bleeding. His skin was tanned, face surprisingly almost smooth and his eyes soft. Without word Arthur sighed and threw himself into the other man’s arms.

“Wow… I would go to jail sooner had I known I would get a hug…”

For a moment Eames stayed stiff and unmoving, his eyes comically wide. Then his arm circled Arthur’s skinny body and warm hand rubbed his back.

“Arthur…. What happened?” Eames’ lips were close to Arthur’s ear making the point-man’s heart beat faster. He had Eames in his arms, alive and breathing.

“I… I would fucking punch you if you weren’t already bleeding.”

Eames glanced at the dark skinned man still standing by the door. The man nodded and left.

“What are you doing here, Arthur?”

“I came to convince you to come back.”

He looked at Eames and suddenly felt bashful, intimidated and not a little bit stupid.

“Back where?”

“Just… back…” Arthur squirmed out of the other man’s embrace, already missing the safety and the smell…

“…to the world… Back to business… to Paris…” ‘To me’ was left unsaid. Damn, he forgot how handsome the other man was. He missed seeing those eyes and lips… He missed his voice and accent. Even bleeding and beaten he still looked like Arthur’s best wet dream.

“I never lived in Paris, Arthur. What’s going on? What do you need from me?”

Eames crossed his muscled arms over his chest defensively, abandoning his forehead for a moment. His attitude was like a wall and instantly made Arthur’s temper rise.

“If you don’t  leave this shithole, I’ll blow your cover.”

“My cover? You want to blow my cover?” He returned the dirty cloth to his forehead when blood spilled into his eye.

“Unless you come with me now.”

“That’s one extraordinary plan, Arthur. Truly brilliant. I see you’ve thought about everything.”

“So, what’s your answer?”

“Um… let’s see?...Did you even think about what compromising my cover would mean to me?” Arthur just frowned deeper in answer.

“If I’m lucky it would be a bullet to my head. It’s not some cop and robbers movie, pet. It’s a prison in the middle of a bloody desert, in one of the least peaceful countries in the world. And not just any prison. Trust me love, this one is the worst. So better tell me what you need now. I’ll help you any way I can, but you have to leave. Now. While you still can walk.”

“I… I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Me? Have you even thought about what may happen to you?”

Arthur swallowed audibly, because no, obviously Eames was his only thought since he had left Paris.

“Ok, so what exactly you expected to happen next? I mean now that I luckily managed to get to you before others did? You ask me to leave and we just walk away?”  
  
“You were going to leave somehow, right?”

“Yes, but it was going to be in about a year from now and is no longer an option anyway, so, I hope you have something more up your sleeve to save your fabulous arse because I’m not sure if I will be able to keep it safe in here for long. I already heard that the ‘lord and master’ wants to have it for supper.” Arthur’s face burned and certainly not from the heat of the sun.

“I can take care of myself!”

“No, not here, darling. You can’t. I need to get you out of here. Now.”

“I’m not leaving without you!”

“I’m not asking you, Arthur. Tell me why you’re here and leave. They’re dropping out some dead bodies tomorrow. I know a guy who cleans after this mess. Not easy to buy but he owes me. You will have to cover your face and most of your body. I’ll get you some clothes.”

“I said I’m  _not_  leaving without you.”

“Say whatever you like. You’re out of here tomorrow.”

“Come with me.”

“I can’t. Besides they would know I’m gone. The guards know me too well.”

“I’m not leaving you here, Eames. No matter what.”

Someone shouted something in Arabic from the other side of the door and to Arthur’s great surprise Eames answered.

“La adri!”

“You speak Arabic?”

“You forget I’m from Mombasa. It’s good to know languages when you live in such a cultural and economic hub. Now come with me, pet. Put this around your head. Hide your face and hair. You’re so pale they’ll spot you from a mile away.” Eames took off his shemagh and handed it to Arthur. “I’m sorry. It probably reeks. We don’t have a lot of water to waste on doing laundry.”

“It smells fine.” It smelled like Eames and Arthur couldn’t get enough. He wanted to keep the scarf forever. Eames just raised an eyebrow treating Arthur with a calculating look, as if wondering if he was sane.

Eames put Arthur in front of himself and nudged from behind to steer him in the right direction. They started to walk deeper into the building passing groups of sick and dirty people. Arthur instinctively moved closer to Eames and grabbed his sleeve.

Finally after walking what seemed like miles through dark corridors and stone staircases they reached a door.

“I managed to claim some small luxury in this esteemed establishment. No matter how bad it will seem to you, know that this is the highest standard you can get in here.”

There were dozens of ones exactly the same along the whole eastern wall of the building. Behind them Arthur expected to see a cell but it was nothing more than a crevice in the wall. It was one meter deep and two meters wide. About half meter above the ground there was a board attached to the wall, looking like a low shelf, half meter deep, maybe less.

“Welcome to my humble abode, pet. This is the bed you’re going to sleep in tonight.”

“You want to share this? How? You probably don’t fit in it yourself!”

“I never said anything about sharing, love. It was just a brilliant flash of your imagination,  _surprisingly,_  proving that you have one.” Eames grinned like a loon but talked quickly not giving Arthur a chance to comment. “Of course I would love to share a bed with you but I am a gentlemen. I’ll take the floor. There’s more room down there anyway. Now I guess it would be best if you stayed here for the rest of the day.”

“Don’t leave me here!” Arthur grabbed Eames’ shoulders and found himself reluctant to let go. He waited so long to be able to touch this man and now when Eames was finally in his arms reach he felt so ridiculously unsure that he couldn’t do absolutely nothing.

“Alright…” Eames reached under the bed once more and pulled out a canteen. Arthur took it gratefully and swallowed half of its content in one gulp.

“Slow down.”

“I’m sorry. It’s your water.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get more.”

He sat beside Arthur on the bunk, their backs pressed against the wall. Eames’ fringe was even longer than when Arthur had seen him in Paris. When it fell it almost reached the forger’s chin, curling just the slightest bit, an inch from his full, red mouth. Arthur had never seen lips as kissable as Eames’. They were unique, one of a kind. Arthur often fantasized about how they would feel against his, or how they would taste. Eames was right there. Arthur could feel his warmth, hear his breath, or maybe even touch him if he wanted to.

During his quest to find Eames Arthur imagined countless scenarios of their meeting but now, when he was finally there he was almost paralyzed by fear. He wasn’t even sure what he was afraid of. Surely Eames would not punch him, right? He cared about Arthur. He compared his feelings for him to Cobb’s love of Mal. It had to mean something. He wouldn’t reject Arthur… right?

Somehow Arthur wasn’t so sure anymore, and started to think about it. What were the chances of Eames lying to Cobb? It could have been a load of bullshit. It was Eames after all. He could lie better than tell the truth. A wall of doubts started to rise between the point man and the forger and suddenly Arthur felt very cold and lonely in this death-trap prison in the middle of nowhere.

“We will have to leave at least once anyway to get more water and maybe even something to eat. You need to eat. You need strength to make your escape.”

Arthur had enough of listening about that but for once he really didn’t want to fight with the thief so he didn’t comment. He just wanted to keep Eames in sight, to know that he was alright. They left the door open to stretch their legs in front of them. It was quite comfortable.

“I didn’t know you’re  _from_  Mombasa. I thought you just… stay there.”

Arthur expected Eames to tense. After all Arthur caught him revealing something about his past. But Eames just shrugged.

“You never asked. I was born there.”

It was like a bucket of cold water. He wasn’t sure if he heard right.

“That simple, huh? I didn’t ask. I bet you wouldn’t tell me back in Paris.”

“Of course I would.”

“Bullshit!”

Eames snorted. “You never even asked how was my day. How was I supposed to know that you were interested in anything else?”

It was so surreal. Eames must have been delirious if  he suddenly got in some miraculous mood to talk about himself. Arthur was going to get as much information as possible.

“So, how many languages do you know?”

“Not enough. In Kenya English an official language along with Bantu Swahili, but in Mombasa they speak Swahili, Kikamba, Luo, Luhya and over five hundred different dialects of Bantu. And then you have traders who speak Arabic…”

“So you also speak Swahili, right?”

“Swahili, French, some Arabic and Spanish, a bit of Bantu…”

“And I always thought you’re from London.” Arthur was pissed because that was the only thing he thought he knew about Eames for sure.

The older man met his eyes for a moment and must’ve noticed some of that hurt and disappointment.

“What do you want me to say?” It sounded like a plea.

“The truth. You know where I come from, you even met my freaking parents once! I know nothing about you.”

Eames rolled his eyes but then sighed resigned turning his eyes away.

“My ancestors were colonist in British East Africa. They had a plantation, farming coffee and some tea. My grandparents went back to England in fifties, during Mau Mau uprising so my father was born in London, but his older brother, Tiberius, in Kenia. He was nine when they left Africa and he went back there as soon as he could cross the border on his own. He saved every penny for the ticket. He bought back our family house and lived there shipping various spices and other things from the Dark Continent to Europe. When he was properly settled my parents went to visit. It was May. My mother was due to deliver me in August but I guess I couldn’t wait and I was born in Mombasa, in already independent Kenya. Uncle Tiberius was my godfather. He left everything he had to me… I guess I like it there just as much as he did.”

“He didn’t have any children?”

“No, uncle Tiberius was… well… otherwise inclined. And quite eccentric.”

“I can imagine how you adored him.”

“Oh, I did. He was… sort of a mentor to me. I spend in Mombasa every summer until I was sixteen, when my father discovered just how very much like my uncle I really was and sent me to military school.” Eames chuckled genuinely amused. “And how that was supposed to be helpful I have no idea. It was heaven for a hormonal gay teenager. After school I joined the army but I moved to Mombasa; since I had double citizenship it wasn’t a problem. Left the army when I learned about uncle Tiberius’ death. I was already knee deep in dream sharing business by then.”

“Damn. So that’s why you handle the heat so well… You were born on a freaking equator…”

“Well, Mombasa is actually 4 degrees South… it’s over 300 miles.”

Arthur just snorted. He was already drenched in sweat while Eames seemed fine in all his layers…

“I need to get rid of these clothes… I’m hot.”

“Don’t. Nights in here are rather parky. I’ll give you something even warmer for the night. It seems you’ll be spending it in my bed, love.” Arthur couldn’t help but smile at Eames’ eyebrows dancing teasingly on his forehead. Eames was rummaging under his ‘bed’ for a moment and pulled out a big fluffy sweater. It wasn’t very nice to touch but surely looked warm.

“It’s made of camel wool. Cost me a fortune. It’s kind of harsh and itchy but warm. Trust me, you’ll appreciate it at night.”

“I doubt that.” At least it smelled familiar.

“And you will swallow these words, darling. So, I answered your questions now it’s time for you to answer mine.”

“I still have some more.”

“I don’t doubt that. But I must know, why are you here?”

“I… needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why? What do you need? Something happened to Cobb?”

“No.”

The younger man dropped his gaze not daring to meet Eames’ eyes again. He thought about this moment for days but now he didn’t know what to say. Or more like he couldn’t force the words through his throat.

“Nothing happened to Cobb.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“You mean, aside from you being locked in Syrian prison?”

“It’s just a job.” Eames sounded almost offended.

“No. It’s not your job. You work in dream sharing business.”

“I retired.”

“What the fuck, Eames?”

“Arthur I…” Eames took a deep breath and set his eyes somewhere on the wall far ahead. “I do random jobs for the government from time to time. It’s not just because it would be a pain to be in their bad books, but also because sometimes it’s fun-“

“Which  _please_  tell me is not the case this time!”

“Which, admittedly, is not the case this time. But sometimes things they ask me to do are…”

“Are what?”

“…are supposed to… no,  _need_  to be done. And it’s hard to say ‘no’ when they tell you that only you can do it. You can’t just turn your back on something that is important… and right. So it's not that I can't leave. It's just that I won't."

“Well then, I won't leave without you either.”

”Arthur...” Eames rubbed his forehead tiredly and sighed. “I don’ know why you’re here and I can see that you are not going to tell me, but you need to go back. You’ve made a mistake by coming here but I can fix it if I manage to keep you alive long enough. Just do what I say.”

“No.”

“Arthur! You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you!”

“There’s something I need to do. You can’t stop me. If you don’t leave on your own I’ll sedate you and you’ll wake up buried in carcass miles away from here. Personally I would rather you be conscious for this.” 

“Tell me what was your freaking mission.”

“Islamic State.”

“Excuse me?”

“Some time ago they proclaimed themselves a Caliphate. It means they believe their leader to be a successor of Muhammad.”

“You’re here to get to him?”

“Indirectly, yes. I was sent here for Abu Ali Bakhri - his Turkmen advisor who had been sent in here as a political prisoner. I was supposed to find where they keep him and get him out of here. They hoped he would talk…”

“They?”

“What? You thought it was my self-appointed mission? I waited four weeks before they released him from isolation. He’s been tortured. I treated his wounds, gave him water and tried to keep him alive long enough to get him out of here. I was supposed to stay in and wait for another one but it doesn’t really matter. Bakhri died on me four days later. The other one will never get here. He’s been shot three days ago.”

“So what now? Can you leave?”

“I probably would if my contact hadn’t been found one hundred yards from the main gate before I even got my hands on Bakhri. You probably passed by the drunkard’s remnants on your way here.”

“How is the government going to get you out?”

“They don’t. Considering that they didn’t hear from my contact since last month I think they presumed me dead. But that, my dear Arthur is not a problem. The real problem is that this prison will be attacked very soon by ISIL themselves.”

“What?”

“They will take over the whole area, including the city. Seriously, darling, I hope you did some sightseeing in Palmyra before you stupidly locked yourself in here, because even if we do get out after the raid, these ancient ruins will be gone anyway. Those lunatics love to obliterate places like that. They will burn this city to the ground.”

“It’s UNESCO World Heritage site!” Arthur almost hyperventilated, because he did hope to do some sightseeing later. “Fuck.”

“You must get to Damascus and then out of Syria before the raid.”

“I’m not leaving you here!!!”

Eames’ fist hit the brick wall making some old plaster fall off.

“I will gut Cobb with my own bare hands, I swear it. I will live this through, just to kill him.”

“Eames… He doesn’t even know where I am.” Eames turned to him instantly, his eyes comically wide.

“Bally! If we die in here no one will ever know. Lovely.”

 

Arthur turned toward Eames watching the line of his throat when the man’s head leaned back. His eyes were closed. The cloth on his temple wasn’t doing much to stop the bleeding. Eames had beautiful hands but Arthur did his best to not let himself be distracted by the thought. He removed the forger’s hand and then the cloth. He ripped a sleeve of his own shirt to make a new bandage.

“Bloody hell, darling! What are you doing? Don’t destroy your clothes.”

“Shut up. You need stitches.”

“I’m fine. Just leave it.”

“No. You’re losing blood. You look sick already. You have concussion.”

“I do not.”

“Do they have an infirmary in this place?”

Eames snorted in amusement but didn’t open his eyes. Apparently it was too much trouble.

“Of course, it’s right by the cafeteria, in front of the fitness club.”

“Very funny. There has to be someone!”

“Don’t worry your sweet head over this. It’s nothing.” He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open for a moment. “They are dropping the bodies outside of the city. I’m not sure if you will be able to hide anywhere in Tadmur, but you could try to steal a car and escape. When you do, go straight back to Damascus and then to Paris. How many stops did you have on your way here?”

“From London I went to Stockholm then to Moscow, Teheran and then Syria.”

“How long did take?”

“Something like… fifty-five hours or more…”

“From London?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, from London you can get to Poland in two hours. From Warsaw to Damascus in 24. If you’ll find a flight from Damascus to Poland, take it.”  

“I’m not going.”

“Arthur…. I know how you like to oppose me every time I open my mouth but you have to stop it. This one time, love, please. Just do what I say.”

“We’re leaving together. I have two sets of documents for you and me in a locker in Tadmur’s post office. I don’t care who you work for and what you are supposed to be doing. I’m taking you away from here. And now I’m going to get help.”

Arthur made a move to stand up but Eames gripped his hand.

“Wait. Don’t. It’s not safe. You can’t…”

“Let go.”

“No. Wait. Check the fourth bed to the right. If the guy’s there, bring him. He’ll get some help. Crap…”

Arthur was gone instantly. When he saw the man he didn’t even try to speak to him. He simply grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him o Eames’ bed.

“Mr Conlon. This looks bad. I’ll get help.”

Help arrived in a form of an impossibly old man who put two stitches on Eames’ temple and gave him something suspicious to drink. Then he crushed some pills in the water and put on the cut. Eames was so out of it that he didn’t even notice Arthur ruining his other sleeve to make a bandage.

Arthur spent the night on the floor, snuggled against the unconscious Forger.


End file.
